


First Arch Finale

by Manuscriptor



Category: Heartless - ABD Illustrates (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Narrative foils, THERE'S FUCKING NOTHING UP THERE, like the finale of an arch, no tags head empty, read this as a shounen manga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manuscriptor/pseuds/Manuscriptor
Summary: It's the theoretical end of the first arch of the manga, when the protagonists reach the headquarters of the villains and have to fight their way to the top.The group is separated and each has to fight their worst enemy, and they might just be in over their heads.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay okay okay, i'm a sucker for narrative foils bc i'm gay, and i got all the way through writing this and watching Alex's [video](https://youtu.be/68XczBaVSrk) for the third time in a row, before i realized that when he joked about who Lorelai's powers would be effective against, he meant Doppel and not Alchemy so,,,,,,
> 
> these are the narrative foils i came up with and it works this way, and i'm too exhausted to make it work the other way, pls don't hunt me down and kill me

The building was already intimidating from the outside, but the twisting and winding corridors inside were more intimidating than anything. Heartless and the rest of his crew all stopped in the lobby, frozen by indecision as they tried to figure out what to do next. 

“Come on!” Flint said, turning towards the nearest doorway. “They’ve got to be in here somewhere.” 

“Wait!” Alchemy said. They had to grab Flint’s shoulder just to stop him from charging off. “They could be anywhere, which means they could easily ambush us.” 

That made Flint stop short, but his balled fists and stiff jaw showed just how much he hated it though. 

The lobby was gothic and dark. Besides the huge arching wooden doorways, the rest of the walls were either upholstered with plush velvet or covered in heavy drapes. Cast iron candle holders poked free every couple feet that had to be some sort of fire hazard, though none of them were lit. It kept the whole place gloomy and dark but also intimidating and dangerous. 

Witch hunters could be anywhere, and all of their faces were well-known and wanted at this point. 

The pile of incapacitated grunts outside were a testament to that. 

“They can’t take us all on!” Doppel said. “If we rush them now, when they least expect it, they can’t possibly win.” 

“Yeah but which door do we take?” the slightly-faded-but-still-completely-there second Doppel asked, hovering just behind the other’s shoulder, like a shadow. 

The group turned as one to look over the room. 

There were indeed multiple doorways to choose from—six in total, as if they had been designed purposefully to break up a large group. And who knew how many other hidden doors and panels and secret entrances there were. The Jury was not known for being forthright. 

“We split up,” Eira immediately suggested, stepping forward and swinging his sword between the doorways. The blade popped and cracked and smoked as Eira’s magic held it together in a temperature where it should have definitely melted. He was getting better at controlling his magic. “Six doors, six of us.” He shot Doppel a look but didn’t apologize. 

“That’s too risky,” River objected. “How am I supposed to heal you when I won’t even be able to see you?” 

“You won’t,” Flint said, shrugging off Alchemy’s hold. “We just survive until we meet up again.” 

Heartless was feeling less confident about this. He wanted to object to the plan. It felt like he had just found this group of friends and even though they had been traveling together for a while now, the thought of splitting up now—especially in the face of danger—was one of the worst feelings ever. The energy in his chest even wobbled, as if it picked up on his uncertainty. 

“We’re stronger than before,” Flint said. He turned to face the group and raised his fist. “Remember when we first found each other? Eira.” 

Eira blinked at being addressed and narrowed his eyes. 

“You could barely control your blade,” Flint said, gesturing to the ice sword with a grin. “And look at it now. As cold as ever.” 

“It’s been one of the only good things about my magic,” Eira admitted reluctantly. “I guess.” 

“And Alchemy!” Flint said. “You thought you would never leave the stage.” 

Alchemy preened under the praise, their whole form shifting between outfits before solidifying again. “Let’s be honest,” they said. “I haven’t left the stage, not _really_. But I must admit, the outside world does provide a more captive audience than an underground ball.” They propped their hands on their hips. “And Flint, don’t you sell yourself short. To think we stumbled across you at a wrestling competition just to have you win _without_ magic.” 

Flint immediately looked more embarrassed at having the attention turned back on him, but Alchemy wasn’t done. 

“You know what?” they said, stepping to the middle of the group. “Flint is right. The first time we encountered the Jury, we were different. We’ve come so far. Split up or not, we’re _stronger_ than them.” 

“Exactly,” Doppel said. “And if you all have taught me anything, it’s that I’m never really alone.” He linked arms with his twin, who looked about as uncertain about all of this as Heartless felt. But Doppel looked confident, looking around the circle with a confident smile. “Magic, illegal or not, helped me find all of you.” 

“We’ll cover more ground split up,” Alchemy said, as if they were thinking through the plan right then and there. “Besides, we’re not here to fight.” 

Heartless nodded. Finally, something he could agree will. “We just need Creed’s plans,” he said. “As soon as we get those, we’ll be out of here.” 

Alchemy put their hand in first, form shivering in their excitement. 

“Together,” they said. 

Doppel put all his hand in next, elbowing his twin to follow suit. “Together,” they said at the same time. 

“Together,” Flint said.

Eira sighed but put his hand in next. “Together.” 

“Together,” River said with a smile. 

They all looked to Heartless then, the empty space in the circle just for him, waiting for him to step forward and complete it. He smiled. He couldn’t help it. He jumped forward to put his hand in and shivered when he felt River flood them all with new energy. 

“Together,” he finished. “Now let’s go!” 

They broke apart and with one last shared look, each chose a door. It was random, since every archway looked the same and each seemed to stretch into a hallway with no visible turns. 

Heartless was buzzing with the energy River had given him, much more sure of himself now that he was before. He could do this! Who was he kidding?! Why had he even been nervous before? With a boost from River, he felt like he would be able to properly focus on a fight. The last time the Jury had caught them, they had been already exhausted from being chased for weeks. Heartless had had to resort to draining an entire circle of trees and underbrush from the forest they had been camping in, and the resulting explosion had knocked almost everyone unconscious. 

When he had woken up next, the group had been split up. Doppel had him in a glass polyhedral force field, arms shaking as he tried to hold it up against the hits from outside. 

Heartless shuddered to think about how terrified he had been. Out of energy, chest aching from the magic inside throbbing uncontrollably, his friend, also terrified, and both of them unsure how they were even supposed to get out of the situation alive. 

They hadn’t even been able to see who they were fighting, just some shadowy shape that seemed twice their size and ten times as strong. 

Heartless shivered, shaking his hands to get rid of the thought. And he was still flapping them as he walked into the first room he had encountered since the lobby. The hallway had been a complete straight shot, with no chance to turn or go up or down. 

The room, however, had huge arching ceilings, and several chandeliers that lit the space as well. The fact that it was so large should have been a clue or a hint, a warning at least, that Heartless should have paid attention to.

It had the same velvet upholstered walls and drapes. The candle holders here were lit, and Heartless didn’t see the lack of exit options until he was already inside. And by then, it was too late. 

The door slammed shut behind him, making him jump around, fists up and ready for a fight. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the annoying insect that I thought I had crushed _ages_ ago.” 

Heartless recognized the voice immediately, spinning in circles as he tried to figure out where it was coming from. 

“Alastor Creed,” he said with a scowl. “If anyone is an insect, it’s you!” 

A pair of curtains halfway up the walls, pulled back to reveal a second-story balcony. And there he was. 

Alastor Creed stood nonchalantly, like he didn’t care. The bags under his eyes were bigger if that were possible, and the coat draped around his shoulders looked like it would topple him at any moment. One of his hands was tucked into his pocket, the other held a gleaming ivory cane, the fingers curled around the black gem inlaid at the top. 

He looked down at Heartless with disdain, like he couldn’t imagine why the magic user would even dare to be in his presence. 

“I’m the insect, am I?” he asked. His tone was even and unworried. 

Heartless already had energy crackling around his fists, ready to tear him apart. Creed was the one who had been sucking up magic all across the country. He and his friends had come across too many magic users who had been drained, sick and struggling, who recounted stories of their run-in with Creed. They told Heartless and his friends how they had been hunted down and trapped, sucked dry of their magic before being left in the dust. And there were even more bodies in Creed’s wake that hadn’t survived being drained, not that the witch hunter cared. 

Heartless sneered. “With the way you steal magic, I’d say you’re practically the same as a leech,” he said. 

Creed scoffed, tapping his cane against the marble floor. “Call me a leech all you want,” he said. He stepped forward to lean heavily on the railing, as if standing for those few minutes had been exhausting. “But it isn’t I who is a bane to society.” 

“We aren’t hurting anyone!” Heartless protested. As much as he wanted to tear Creed limb from limb, he couldn’t help but want to reason with him. If it were possible. He wanted revenge, of course, but only as a last resort. “We just want peace!” 

“If peace was an option,” Creed said. “Then magic would be eradicated.” 

Heartless poured energy into his fists. One hit. This could all be over with one hit, and he swore that if he did get his hands on Creed, then he would show the snobby rich boy just exactly what magic could do. 

“I didn’t want to fight,” he said. “But if that’s what I have to do.” 

Creed didn’t look worried. While leaning on the railing, he could lift his cane and level the tip at Heartless’s chest. 

“I didn’t want to fight either,” he said. “So we can at least agree on one thing.” 

Heartless was ready to launch himself across the room with a magical blast when the energy on his fists died with a pop, like a fire without oxygen. He had a moment to wonder what had happened, looking down at his hands in confusion, when the energy in his chest went still, and his vision went black as he collapsed. 

Gone before he could even wonder how.  
  
  


  
********

Flint walked fast. Really, he just wanted to run into someone. He was itching for a fight. Heartless knew how to pick and choose his battles, and Flint did too. He just usually chose them all, and with the way the Jury had been chasing them and hunting them and hurting everyone around them, Flint was more than ready to pound someone into the ground. 

The grunts outside had only been a warm up. Flint knew there were more powerful goons somewhere in this building. He didn’t care what Heartless said before. He _was_ looking for a fight and he wasn’t going to leave until he got one.

“Fuck,” he growled, yanking through the drapes as he looked for some sort of door. 

The hallway had taken a couple turns, but so far there hadn’t been any sort of particular change, just the same drapes and velvet the whole time. If anything, it felt like he was going in circles, and Flint hated being lost. He shook his fists at the ceiling, cursing someone he couldn’t see. 

“Come out and fight me, you cowards!” he yelled and then smirked. “Or are you afraid of a little magic user like me?” 

As if prompted by his taunting, the floor suddenly opened up beneath him. Flint didn’t even have a chance to grab for a ledge before he was slamming into a smooth wall that threw him sideways and then he was tumbling further down the pipe. He hit several more turns on the way down before he was dropped into a room that was well-lit, so bright that he was blinding until he hit the ground. He didn’t ground harder than he intended since he couldn’t brace for it and grunted as the breath was knocked from his lungs. 

When he could finally breathe again and his vision cleared, he was almost confused where he was. 

This room was completely different from the rest of the gothic atmosphere. It almost looked like a movie set. 

The huge walls and arching ceiling had been painted sky blue with clouds and birds. A gleaming chandelier designed to look like a sun lit the entire room, Flint could almost swear it was magic. He started sweating almost immediately, pushing himself up before he could get jumped.

Huge wooden sets were cut and painted to look like full buildings, but when Flint cocked his head to the side, it was obvious that they were more 2D than anything. And they were scattered everywhere, making the room look more like a maze or . . . or a shooting range.

Flint shot to his feet at that, bringing his fists up in a panic. 

“Okay, coward!” he said. “Show yourself!” 

“Oh, hun, I ain’t no coward.” 

Flint spotted the woman who stepped out from behind one of the cardboard constructs almost immediately. Of course he did. They were probably the only people in the entire room, and Flint spotted the movement immediately.

She wore a western get-up that matched the rest of the room, and Flint felt his stomach sink at the pistols and guns strapped to her waist and thighs and arms. He knew how to handle an opponent up close, but one that could keep their distance was an entirely new challenge.

The woman pulled her guns, one for each hand, snapping the hammers back with two ominous clicks. 

Flint brought his fists up on instinct. 

“Now where are my manners,” the woman said. “Starting a fight without introducin’ myself? We haven’t even taken our ten paces!” 

She said it as if it were common knowledge. Like it should be obvious what manners were required at the beginning of a fight. Flint knew how to act in a tournament but this felt like an awkward mix between formal and informal.

“Diana Shikari,” the woman said with a gesture of her guns. She leveled both barrels at Flint’s chest. “Too bad we couldn’t have met on better terms, yeah?” 

Flint didn’t even have a chance to introduce himself in return. Diana just fired on him and he was flipping backwards to avoid the bullets, landing light on his feet and already pivoting to duck behind one of the wooden props. He wasn’t used to hiding, but he also knew how dangerous staring down the barrel of a gun could be. 

He didn’t even register that the bullets didn’t impact where he expected them to. In fact, he only caught the movement out of the corner of his eye before he was hissing in pain, falling back hard against his shelter as blood spurted from his thigh. Somehow a bullet had bent around the corner, as if purposefully seeking him out.

But that didn't make any sense.

He clamped his hands tight against the wound, blood already trying to ooze through his fingers. 

“What the—?!” he muttered. 

Diana’s spurs rattled as she rounded the corner, tucking her smoking guns back into their holsters and pulling out a net with stone weights secured all around the edge. She was smiling—almost friendly and casual, if Flint didn’t know any better—as she stopped, still keeping her distance though. 

“Bending bullets around corners,” Flint spat. He knew he should get to his feet to run away, but his thigh was throbbing with pain. He just had to stall for as long as possible. “I thought you people didn’t like magic.” 

“Oh this ain’t magic,” Diana said, hefting the net to prepare to throw it. “I’m just a hunter. I track down varmint. That’s my job and those are my skills. And you look like a rat that I need to get out of my pantry.” 

Flint couldn’t run, and Diana was keeping her distance still. If he could just get close enough, then maybe he could grapple her to the ground and wrestle her. But as it was, he felt exactly like the small trapped animal that Diana was describing. 

And she loomed over him—judge, jury, and about to become an executioner. 

********

Alchemy moved quietly. As soon as they stepped through the doorway they had chosen they shifted their form, mimicking the look and outfit of a Jury grunt. They even banished their staff, trusting that even without the protection, their stealthier approach would keep them safe. 

They kept track of each turn they took, making a note at every fork which way they were going so that they didn’t get turned around or lost. It wouldn’t be that easy to catch them off guard, and Alchemy knew better at this point in the group’s adventures. 

So they were surprised that it took them so long to reach the small auditorium. Even without a watch or clock, they knew they had been walking for almost ten minutes so they were pretty far into the huge building. Still, the auditorium was smaller than they expected, especially for a space that was designed for performances. Even Alchemy’s old ballroom space was bigger than this.

The entire room was dimly lit, the half dozen rows of seats all folded up and out of the way. The dark heavy curtains were already drawn across the stage, hiding everything but the apron. And for a moment, Alchemy was almost jealous of the gleaming wood paneling and pristine fabric. It was so different from their own ballroom—what they wished they could have but never provide. 

They were distracted so much that when the spotlights snapped on, they jumped in surprise, summoning their wand before they remembered their grunt disguise.

Their cover was already blown apparently as the curtains pulled back and an impossible perfect silhouette of a dancer was illuminated on stage. Alchemy had to cover their eyes at the bright lights, and it took a moment for their vision to clear enough to actually study the person on stage. 

They wore a delicate ballet dress and slippers, posed with their arms up as if they were about to begin a show. 

A single piano note echoed, something flat and melancholy, and the figure finally moved. 

“Welcome to the show,” they said, their voice caring out to fill the space. “ _You_ , however, can drop the act.” 

Alchemy accepted that their cover was blown and dropped the disguise at the request, taking their more masculine form, leaving half their costume behind just in case the fight required quick movement. They had come so far, it would be bad form to be tripped up by something as simple as a skirt.

The lights dimmed enough that Alchemy could finally study their opponent. She didn’t cut an intimidating figure at first glance, with her dress and slippers and elegant style. Alchemy knew not to underestimate anyone by looks though, so they kept their guard up, ready to attack or defend at a moment’s notice. 

“Introducing the lead!” the woman declared, stepping up to the apron with her arms flung wide. “Played by the One, the Only, Lorelai!” She looked pointedly at Alchemy. “This is where you applaud.” 

She had the showmanship, Alchemy would give her that. They even obliged her, clapping a few times and venturing down the side aisle, risking getting closer to the stage.

“So you’re one of the magic stealers,” they said. “Is this where you monologue all of your plans? Tell me just why you’re doing it?” 

Lorelai posed, frozen like a doll under the spotlight. And she didn’t move for a second, just stood there, giving Alchemy the chance to admire her. 

“Oh, I don’t monologue, dear,” she said. “Not in the first act. How tacky. We haven’t even set the stage.”

She still hadn’t presented herself as a threat, but Alchemy was still wary. They made their way slowly now the aisle, stopping halfway just to keep their distance, but when Lorelai still didn’t make an aggressive move, they continued a little further. 

“No, we need to start at the beginning of the story,” Lorelai said. 

Alchemy almost smirked. This sure sounded like a monologue. If they could get close enough, it would take them a second to transform into an animal, one capable of ripping out throats. Human instincts could be fast, but never as fast as an animal, especially a magical one. Alchemy knew from experience. 

“The very, very beginning,” Lorelai went on, not even looking to Alchemy as they walked forward. “When we just meet our villains and they are already on their knees.” 

She opened her mouth as if to continue talking but there weren’t any words. Instead, Alchemy gasped as a spike of pain jolted up their spine, collecting right behind their eyes in a throbbing headache that sent them straight to their knees. Their wand tumbled out of their hands, rolling off to the side as they clutched at their head. 

They weren’t sure how much time passed but the pain finally receded enough for them to gasp and finally get a chance to think. They still had a throbbing headache and tears were streaming down their cheeks. They hadn’t even realized they had been crying as they wiped at their face and tried to remember what they had been doing. It felt like their mind had been wiped clean, they didn’t know where they were, and they had no idea what they were supposed to be doing. 

They finally looked up, recognizing the stage and familiar warm glow of spotlights. That was something they could never forget. 

The person that stood on stage was looking down at them, extending a hand so benevolently that Alchemy almost thought it was friendly. They even reached for it, remembering the first time they were welcomed on-stage and how the spotlight felt like a second sun against their skin. How warm and comfortable and at home they had been, changing themselves and changing their character. 

Alchemy snatched their hand back at the last second, diving for their wand and pulling up their magic around them, bulking our their frame and making themself bigger and bigger and 

The sound pierced through their ears, sending them crumpling to the floor as they clutched at their ears and face. 

“Remember your stage directions,” Lorelai chided from above. She sounded like an angel that came from everywhere, bouncing around the room until she ended up back on-stage, back under the spotlights, back in the loving, _accepting_ gaze of the crowd.

Alchemy couldn’t focus on their magic with all the noise. It was impossible to pull a shape around themself when their head was throbbing with the same staccato beat of their heart. No defense, no attack, no character or shape or form that they could hide behind. They crumpled under Lorelai’s voice, unable to do anything except sob at the pain right behind their eyes.

“We all have a part to play,” Lorelai said, her tone still sickly sweet as if she were chiding a child. “It’s time you remember yours.” 

********

Eira stalked through the halls, checking corners and slashing curtains as he went. He did better on his own, so when everyone had accepted his idea to split up, he had had to hold back a sigh of relief. Yes, the group was nice and he was slowly learning how to wake up next to someone and how to be okay with the dinner table being loud. Being looked at like he was the best person in the world still made him cringe, but sometimes, seeing the way he could make someone smile and laugh made his chest warmer than he thought possible. 

He shot magic down his sword, hating that his mind constantly reminded him what he had become. 

Not soft. Not yet. 

The frozen, icey blade of his sword hissed and smoked in the heat of the mansion, and Eira liked how dangerous it sounded. Bleak and deadly. His magic was always cold and burning, but now, now that he was angry and intent and focused, it became like subzero temperatures, deadly enough to stop your heart. 

If Eira were honest with himself, he might realize that the reason he hated traveling with the group and refused to accept their friendly gestures and touches and looks, was his homesickness, the wanting the familiarity and comfort of routine that he had when he was captain of the guard. If he were really honest, he would realize just how much he missed the stoic calm of protecting his charge. The crown prince was as cold and calculated in the court as Eira had learned to be as a member of the guard. 

However, behind closed doors he was warm and relaxed and friendly. His smile was soft, and his cold exterior melted into someone who watered the window beds of flowers and kept track of how many shifts each guard worked and whether or not they had had a proper rest. He would ask about you in a way that was genuine, eyes boring into you and demanding the truth. 

Eira had never been able to lie to him. 

His face was cold and hot, burning with magic as he stormed forward, trying not to think about any of _that_. He wasn’t supposed to think about that. He didn’t let himself. 

Eira was here for a job, working for a pay that he hadn’t received yet. He would do this job without complaint, as he did every job. He would work tirelessly until he could go back home and until then, he would keep to himself, make sure he wasn’t taken advantage of, and didn’t become too attached . . . too _anything_.

He wasn’t even surprised when the hallway opened up into a large room, completely empty as if it was made to be a battle ground. The floor was cold stone and the walls were finally stripped of the infuriating curtains that made absolutely no sense. 

Eira instinctively took a fighting stance, sword up and reading to jump into action. 

He crept forward even slower now, on edge. He was waiting for an attack that he knew was going to come.

“Oh, I’m so _fucking_ glad that I get _you_.” 

Eira recognized the voice but he turned slowly, making sure not to let himself become too caught up in his adrenaline that he would make a mistake. He leveled his blade with the chest of his opponent, one that he recognized from past encounters. 

“Lance Lothaire,” he said, keeping his tone just as steady as his hand. 

The man was grinning at him, as wild and unpredictable as he had been before. He was stripped of his armor this time though, unlike before. And maybe that was what caught Eira off guard. 

As studious and as disciplined as he was, Eira felt his face go hot. Even his grip on his sword wavered, the tip dropping half an inch before he corrected himself. 

He knew Lance as a knight in his armor, the metal carefully formed and styled to fit the draconic aesthetic. Eira scoffed at it now. At first, he had been intimidated by the armor and persona that Lance had portrayed. That had only lasted until Lance opened his mouth. 

He was like a dog barking. He came and went as his masters wished, sat and begged, rolled over, every trick that was demanded of him. The armor was impressive and intimidating, yes, but only until Eira realized that a collar and leash would be more fitting. 

Now though, Lance was bare-chested. His fists were still covered in his gauntlets, spiked and dangerous, but other than that and the pair of loose cloth pants, Lance was less armed for combat and more ready to relax. Like he wasn’t taking the fight seriously at all. 

“I thought we sent you running,” Eira said, trying to keep his eyes at face level. “Tail between your legs.” 

“Oh, _I’m_ the dog, am I?” Lance said with a laugh. “I’d say we’re pretty much the same. Come on, Eira, give me a woof.” 

The mocking made Eira’s face even hotter, and he was struggling to keep his focus on Lance’s face. 

“Shut up!” he snapped. “We are nothing alike!” 

Lance laughed, like this was all a big game, like the stakes weren’t as high as they actually were. 

“Oh, aren’t we?” he asked. “You’re telling me if the master whistled, you wouldn’t go running? Your tail is already wagging at the thought. Call me a dog, I don’t fucking care, but you should know that you’re looking in a mirror.” 

Eira hated the thought. 

“Mad?” Lance taunted. He raised a metal finger mockingly, pointing it at Eira’s sword. “Gonna bark? _Growl_? Come on, I know you want to take me by the throat, shake me like a stuck pig. We’re the same, you know—you and I. We just have different _fucking_ masters.”

With a yell, Eira charged him. 

He should have known better. He _did_ know better. But in the moment he was so blinded by rage that he couldn’t help it. He had been on the road for so long, stressed by the fact that he was constantly surrounded by new and strange people, stretched thin and so far from home that he was fed up with the mocking and disrespect.

He struck fast and hard, aiming straight for Lance’s chest so there wasn’t any doubt in the world what his intent was. 

But Lance moved just as fast, jumping straight into Eira’s blade and catching it in one hand. 

The metal and ice shrieked as they skidded across each other, no sparks, but Eira winced at the noise. He didn’t get a chance to pull away either as Lance latched onto his blade with both hands, yanking him even closer.

“Thanks for giving a dog a bone,” Lance said with a wild grin, canines flashing. 

With a flash of light, Eira’s blade disappeared from his hands. Not in the way like he had lost control of his magic and the ice had melted, that was something he was used to. No, the entire sword disappeared, leaving him completely unarmed and vulnerable. 

He jumped back in surprise, just wanting to put distance between himself and Lance then. It took him a moment to gather his magic back too, pulling it up and spinning himself a new blade in a matter of moments. 

Even Lance looked impressed by that, blinking for a moment before smiling again. In another flash of light, he materialized Eira’s blade in his old hand, still hissing and cold and deadly, but somehow disconnected from Eira’s magic. Lance inspected it greedily, eyes gleaming as he twisted it this way and that, swinging it through the air a few times experimentally, and then finally bringing it up to the crook in his own arm. 

Before Eira could yell in alarm, Lance drew the blade across his own skin. The ice that made the weapon froze the wound immediately, making the skin go blue and crack, but Lance didn’t even flinch. Like he didn’t even feel it. Instead, his eyes went even wilder, excited and gleaming at the prospect of a fight with a good weapon apparently. 

“Welcome to the dog fight,” he said with a growl and lunged at Eira, using his own weapon against him as he slashed into him.

Each hit was heavy, and Eira grunted with each blow, having to put all his strength behind just maintaining his defense. Lance didn’t have a single hold or opening in his fighting style, and Eira had never fought someone who wielded the same weapon as him. 

It was like his fighting style was mirrored back at him, every block and blow exactly how he would do it, but harder and faster and _better_. He was struggling to keep up, having to retreat steps at a time as Lance bore into him. 

With a grunt, he tried his luck at a slash towards Lance’s throat, hoping he would catch him off guard enough that he would at least land a hit on his shoulder or arm. 

But Lance caught his blade in his hand again, and just like before, it disappeared in a flash of light. Just as quickly though, it appeared in Lance’s other hand. He spun both blades around, now duel-wielding Eira’s own weapons against him. 

“What now, puppy?” he taunted. “Did I take your toy?”

Eira gritted his teeth, spinning up another ice blade. He was too nervous to think of a retort, his thoughts going a million miles a minute as he tried to come up with some sort of strategy against his _own_ fighting style.

Lance just scoffed at the same ice sword that Eira had summoned, raising the matching ones in his own hands. “I guess you’re just an old dog,” he said. “With no new tricks.” 

And with a whirl of Eira’s own blades, he charged again, even faster than before.

********

River hated it when they split up. Sure, they did it often enough, and she usually did keep her distance from most battles which was almost like splitting up. But that wasn’t as scary as this. This was Jury headquarters. This was being _all alone_. 

Besides, what was she supposed to do on her own anyway? Sure Flint had shown her a bit of his hand-to-hand combat, but it still felt so awkward when River did it. She was much better at keeping her teammates alive, not keeping herself alive.

She rubbed her thighs without thinking, fingers skimming over the metal in a self-soothing gesture. They didn’t hurt anymore, not like they used to, but she couldn’t stop herself sometimes. 

Especially when she was nervous. 

She paused then, slipping a hand under the tapestries that covered the wall so she could press her palm against the cold wood underneath. 

She could feel the hum of the entire hallway, the lobby behind her, and about a dozen rooms and pockets of space all around her. She couldn’t feel the entire mansion—the building seemed to be too large for that—but she could feel a lot through the energy alone. It gave her a little comfort knowing that she could mentally map out the space around her, even if it wasn’t that much. 

With that little bit of comfort, River took a deep breath and continued on.

She felt the room far before she actually reached it. River liked being able to know what things were coming and when, so when she finally stepped into the room and it wasn’t empty she was more shocked than anything.

Shocked was a mild way to put it. River nearly jumped out of her prosthetics. 

The huge hulking figure stood in the center of the room, working over some sort of gurney, hacking at the limp unmoving body with a blunt saw and dumping the organs and chunks of meat that they took off into buckets and on the floor by their feet. 

Even from a distance, River could tell that they were big. _Large_. Twice her size at least. They wore some sort of heavy leather medical garments too, an outfit that covered them from head to toe. A bird-shaped mask obscured their face as well, leaving them featureless and inhuman. 

So when they froze and cocked their head to the side, eyeing River with one black-glass eye that held no emotion, she shuddered and immediately reached out for energy, like she always did. 

The wood and stone of the building did shiver a bit, but anything living and thriving and humming was so far out of River’s grasp. She squeaked when she realized just how cut off from the rest of the world she was, tempted to scramble back out of the room and run to safety. Safety being her teammates, someone familiar, someone she could trust. 

The figure turned completely, holding out a calming hand as if they sensed her panic.

“Gentle, gentle,” they reassured. Their voice was smooth and calm, fatherly almost, despite the costume they wore. “I’m sorry for my work clothes. You caught me at a bad time.” 

River would have almost relaxed if the body behind them on the gurney wasn’t dripping blood onto the floor.

“Who are you!?” she demanded instead, ready to snap at their energy the moment they made a move towards her.

“Easy,” the figure chided. “No need to panic. We’re all colleagues here, aren’t we?” 

River narrowed her eyes. She didn’t trust this man as far as she could throw him. Which wasn’t that far at all. “What do you mean?” she asked warily. She was still ready to run, staying light on her feet. 

“Why, medical professionals of course,” the figure said, pressing a hand to their chest and giving a formal bow. “My name is Dock. That’s what you can call me. And I think we are both able to agree that there is no need for a fight. Not here, not between us. Correct?” 

“You’re the Jury,” River said. She knew it wasn’t a question, but Dock just chuckled, his shoulders bobbing a bit. It was hard to read his body language under all the leather and fabric. “Aren’t we supposed to fight?” 

“We aren’t supposed to _do_ anything,” Dock said. “But, if we cannot settle things _civilly_ , then I guess force would be required.” 

River stiffened at that, immediately reaching towards the energy around her before remembering that there was _nothing_. 

Dock looked down at their belt, having to cock their head like a bird to see what they were doing. He shuffled through the different bottles that were hanging there before selecting one, bringing it up to one of his glass eyes to study it for a moment. He swirled the liquid around and held it up to the light a little longer and then was finally satisfied with it apparently. 

There must’ve been some sort of tubing in the beak of the mask, because he brought it to his ‘mouth,’ tipping his head back as he took several long mouthfuls. 

He even smacked his lips, like it was a refreshing beverage. 

River had no idea what it was, but Dock made it look like it was the best thing ever. 

“I don’t think you know what you’re dealing with, little girl,” he said, looking her up and down with a bob of his head. Very bird like, but somehow still very ominous. “Medical professional or not.” 

He patted a fist against his chest, coughing, and then he shuddered. 

River felt the surge of energy before she realized what was happening and by then, it was too late to react. The energy fell off Dock in a wave, crashing into her before she even had a chance to redirect it. The wave of sickness and violent pain followed immediately afterwards. 

It was centered in her chest, down to her stomach. 

It almost felt like . . . poison. 

River had to act quickly, she knew that from experience. Poison could be separated from someone easily enough, but it had to be done before it was digested into the system too much. Since Dock had drunken it, River just had to pull it out of her stomach. 

She didn’t even overthink it, just stuck two fingers down her own throat. It took a couple jabs—a sign that she had done this way too often—but then she was throwing up, the bile and acid burning her mouth as she spat and coughed and heaved. She still felt the throbbing pain in her chest, but that would fade eventually. 

While River couldn’t use her powers on herself exactly, her body always ran high on energy. A couple moments later, the effects of the poison were already filtered from her system. 

Whatever Dock had done though, was clearly supposed to have killed her. Or worse. 

His head was cocked to the side as he studied her, as if he was shocked she was still standing. 

“Interesting,” he said. “You’ll be an interesting patient indeed.” 

He patted down his pockets then, skipping over the bottles that River had to assume were all poison, finally pulling a wicked looking syringe from a pouch and uncapping the needle. His face was entirely unreadable and his tone was the same smooth baritone that would have been friendly and reassuring if it had even a hint of emotion.

“I guess we just need to find something that you can’t get out of your body as easily,” he said. “But I’m eager to experiment.” 

********

Doppel didn’t mind splitting up. Sure, at some point maybe the idea would have bothered him, especially with the group of friends that he had now, but when you split yourself in two and lived with the resulting twin fucking _years_ ago, a lot of things got put into perspective.

Besides, Doppel was never really alone, not with himself literally hovering over his shoulder. 

“Do you think we could slip out a window?” he asked, chewing on a nail and drumming a hand against his thigh. “It’s not too late you know. Just send us straight out of here and we could be gone before anyone even realizes we are.” 

“We’re _staying_ ,” Doppel said firmly. He wanted to yell at himself for being as pathetic and as scared as a shadow, but that’s all he would be doing—yelling at himself. That didn’t do much good. “Come on, you wuss, I bet you can’t even fit behind one of these curtains. Where else are you gonna hide?” 

Second Doppel looked around, switching fingers to chew on a different nail. “You’re right,” he muttered. “Nowhere to hide. That isn’t good. Hey, I know! Just make a mirror for me! I’ll jump in and be gone. You won’t even have to worry about me!” 

Doppel just grabbed his own arm, dragging himself along down the hallway. “You’re staying with me,” he said. “Now come on. There’s gotta be something up ahead. Maybe some Jury grunts so we can kickass and have everyone love us again.” 

“I think everyone would love us if we kept ourselves alive,” second Doppel said but let himself be dragged along without too much of a struggle. 

Doppel was stomping along, barely paying attention to the turns and stairs that he took, so he didn’t really know how long he had been walking before he finally stumbled across the room. 

It was lavishly decorated with luxurious furniture, paintings of the same clown over and over, and a wide table set up with a banquet of food. Doppel’s first thought was to grab as much of it as possible, eat his fill, and then pawn off whatever he could for cash in his pocket. He was so distracted by the room’s furniture that he didn’t notice the figure that was lounging in the chaise, sipping from a wine glass, just studying him with an amused look. 

Second Doppel was the one who pointed him out, tugging on his own sleeve and jerking his thumb at the jester. 

Doppel stiffened immediately, pulling up a mirror on instinct even though there wasn’t any sort of threat. 

_Not yet_ , he told himself. 

The clown was the same one in all the paintings, a mask covering the top half of his face with a luxurious robe that draped around his shoulders and trailed down to the floor. The bells sewn into the costume chimed innocently as he popped grapes into his mouth, and he certainly didn’t look worried that Doppel had even arrived. He didn’t even sit up. 

“Finally!” he declared once he realized he had been spotted. He set the bowl of grapes aside and stretched, groaning and making a show of having to warm up his arms and shoulders and muscles. Like he had been relaxing for a while. “I thought I would just be eating alone.” 

“Jury scum,” Doppel spat, pointing his mirror at the jester and ready to fight back. 

“We really should be going,” second Doppel said. 

“I don’t see why you need to be in such a rush,” the jester said. He finally pushed himself to his feet, pausing to look over the table of food before selecting his glass of wine again. “I was expecting guests, I will admit, but _two_ of you? This will be so much fun.” 

“Fun, my ass,” Doppel said. “You magic-stealers don’t know what you’re doing. We’re here to stop you! Or die trying.” 

“Or!” second Doppel added quickly, still hovering. “Maybe not dying? That’s a thought, right? We don’t have to die _here_ , we could just agree to pretend we never saw each other and go on our merry way, yeah?” 

“Come on,” Doppel said, elbowing himself and then summoning more mirrors. 

All it would take is one big blast of reflected magic, and this fucking clown would be ash. He was still clinging to himself though, and Doppel knew that it would take a bit more than that to convince himself that the fight was really worth it. 

“Feisty, are we?” the jester said. “And we haven’t even had introductions.” He swept an arm across his waist in an elegant bow, the bells on his hat jingling as he bent down and then popped back up. “Bandy Bellamis,” he said. “Happy to be performing here tonight. Ready to switch things up?” 

Doppel was thrown off balance as he switched places with himself, suddenly existing a couple of feet where he had been standing moments before. Even that small change was weird enough. The mirrors dropped out of existence as he tried to orientate himself and figure out what had happened. 

Bandy was grinning at him, letting him figure it all out. 

Second Doppel was even more panicked, immediately jumping back behind himself, where it was safe. And Doppel let him. He didn't have time to deal with himself at the moment.

“Not as cursed as the others, I see,” he said instead, hoping that he could maybe taunt Bandy into making a mistake. He also knew how magic felt, and Bandy was using fucking magic. What a traitor. “How does that work?” 

Bandy’s smile didn’t waiver the entire time. “Some of us have better survival instincts,” he said. “Come now, you surely must know that you sometimes have to do the _unsavory_ just to keep yourself alive. I thought we would understand each other. I’m hurt.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you are,” Doppel said. “What are you? Some sort of street magician? Some disappearing act you’ve got going on.” 

“Not a disappearing act,” Bandy said. He raised a hand and Doppel switched places with himself again. It was just as disorienting the second time around. “Just a little bit of sleight of hand, I think. You are copies of each other, right? So does it even matter when I switch you up?” 

Doppel gritted his teeth. He was already sort of dizzy, but he didn’t want to let Bandy know that. Sure he was a copy of himself, but that didn’t mean they shared senses perfectly. Constantly switching, shifting a few feet to where he was actually standing was disorienting as fuck, and Doppel hated that it turned his stomach like that. He wanted to throw up, like motion sickness was something that he had to deal with now too. 

“Fuck you,” he said. “Clown ass.” 

“Let’s wait before we start insulting each other, hm?” Bandy said. He spread his arms wide and stepped out onto the table. 

He tipped over a bowl of fruit, knocked over the bottle of wine, kicked a plate of bread out of the way, and otherwise had to clear a path for him to walk as he stepped over the table. He made a mess like he didn’t care what he was doing, finally stepped down on the other side. Somehow, the trailing ends of his outfit didn’t get caught in the soups and dressings and dips, and he dismounted from the table clean and put together, like he had planned it the whole time. 

“At least wait until we start exchanging blows, hm?” he said. “Isn’t that the customs of a duel?” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“That’s only if you fight fair and square,” Doppel said. He had to bring up the mirrors again, trying to keep his grip on the magic tight and sure, so that he wouldn’t lose them every time Bandy switched things up. 

Bandy laughed and clapped excitedly, jingling and happy like he was an actual jester. “Oh, then we agree,” he said, his smile turning a bit dark and a bit dangerous. 

Doppel narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? Agree on _what_?” 

Bandy giggled and raised his hands again, and Doppel braced himself for some sort of magical attack. “We agree that we _won’t_ be fighting fair and square,” he said. “Magic or not.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i broke this chapter into two parts so the wait wasn't as long, i hope that it still flows okay, enjoy!

When Heartless came to, his chest was throbbing, like someone had grabbed his heart and _squeezed_ , only letting up enough so that the fight wasn’t over that fast. The pain made his vision swim.

He was curled into a loose fetal position on the ground, shuddering in spasms he couldn’t control, but he wasn’t really sure how he had gotten there. He remembered fighting Jury grunts outside the mansion headquarters. Splitting up in the lobby of the mansion. Wishing his friends luck as they all disappeared down their separate paths. 

Heartless didn’t think things would spiral out of control so fast. 

He groaned as he pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision as he tried to figure out where Creed was. 

_Creed._

Heartless suddenly remembered who had encountered and the fight that he was supposed to have.

He still wasn’t strong enough to actually get to his feet, but he pushed himself up, pausing when he almost threw up and taking the moment to catch his breath. His heart was still thrumming in his chest, weakly, but it was there, and every moment it was getting stronger, like it was restarting itself and recovering faster than before. 

“I’m surprised you’re even able to get up after that.” 

Creed was standing over him. At least he had come down from the balcony now— _how long had Heartless been out?!_ —and was dismissing some Jury grunt who ducked out of the room before Heartless could even figure out what was going on.

Creed turned his spiteful gaze on him now. He didn’t look angry, necessarily, more irritated that Heartless wasn’t dead yet. Like he had crushed a bug underneath his shoe and had lifted his foot to find it still twitching. 

“You’re a magic stealer!” Heartless wheezed. He still couldn’t get to his feet, but he glared at Creed anyways. “Angry that we have something you don’t?” 

“Nothing is outside my grasp,” Creed said dismissively. He shuddered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders and knocking his cane sharply against the floor. “Who _wants_ magic? That’s ridiculous.” 

Heartless was trying to gather his own magic as quietly as possible, not wanting Creed to see it and snuff it out. In a couple more seconds, his heart would be back to its normal thrumming state, and Heartless would be able to jump to his feet and face Creed head on. 

He just had to stall a moment longer. 

“So you steal it for what?” he said, keeping his teeth gritted to make it look like he was still struggling. “Just because you can?” 

Creed shrugged. “Something like that,” he said.

With a growl, Heartless jumped to his feet, magic gathered around him in a tight shield. It jumped out of his fingers in jagged claws and made his heart thrum like an unstable battery in his chest, and he lunged at Creed. 

The man spun around in surprise and shock, stumbling backwards at the sudden movement from his opponent, but he wasn’t fast enough. Or maybe Heartless was just faster. 

His claws tore into Creed’s cloak, ripping it aside with one slash. And then Heartless slashed again, tearing through his thin button down next. He didn’t get to strike again as Creed fell back, tripping over his own coat where it had landed on the floor and sprawling backwards. 

His eyes were wild and panicked as Heartless loomed over him. His chest was heaving, even with that short bit of sudden movement, and his breath rattled in his lungs like they were only half-working. His shirt, now in tatters, hung off his frame, and it was the first time that Heartless realized just how _skinny_ and _underfed_ he was. He looked so sick. 

“Bastard,” Creed hissed, raising a hand at Heartless and then squeezing it into a tight fist.

And just like that, Heartless’s magic died at his fingertips. 

He collapsed with a gasp and his heart skipped a beat and then slowed, slowed down. It felt like death all over again, and he cursed himself for missing the one chance he probably had over his enemy.

Creed was scrambling to pull his coat back over his shoulders, even though it was popped at the seams and losing its down insides. Still, he pulled it around himself like it was armor, keeping a hand squeezed tight on Heartless’s magic and pulled the coat even tighter. 

“Magic is so good and helpful?” he spat. He was shaking as he got to his feet, fumbling with his cane and leaning on it hard as he tried to pull himself together. 

Heartless couldn’t reply. He could barely breathe. 

His heart was fighting to stay active, trying to pump out all the magic that Creed was stealing from it but struggling to keep up. 

And Heartless didn’t think Creed would make the mistake of letting him live, twice. 

********

Flint burned through the ropes of the nets for the up-teenth time, somersaulting out of the way and popping back to his feet. Years of hand-to-hand combat kept him light on his feet, that was for sure, and it was probably the only thing keeping him alive. 

Diana kept her distance, using her guns and crossbows to attack while trying to trip him up with her nets and boobie traps. He was constantly having to stop and burn himself free, and he hadn’t even had a chance to get close to her yet.

_How was he supposed to use hand-to-hand combat if he couldn’t get close enough to use his hands?!_

He ducked around a corner, back against one of the wooden house cutouts, panting to catch his breath and trying to think of a plan. Trying to think of _anything_.

“Come on, Solveig,” he said, drumming his knuckles against the side of his head. “There’s gotta be something.” 

He shuffled through the different opponents he had faced up until now, trying to think of a strategy or a method that had let him get the upper hand, something that he could use in this fight. 

Nothing came to mind. 

“Now, don’t go hiding on me!” Diana called. 

Flint shivered as her spurs clanked and rattled as she walked, and he pressed himself a little tighter into his hiding spot. 

“And here I thought I chose the one that was going to get me a good fight,” Diana mused out loud. “A hunt, at least. I should have known better than to expect anything more than a chase from a _magic_ _user_.” She spat out the last words with a laugh.

Flint’s chest when hot with anger, and he was jumping out from behind his cover, flames already over his fists, before he could second-guess what he was doing. 

“You want a fight,” he spat. “Come and get it.” 

Diana whirled around with a wide smile, bringing up her guns and already aiming down the barrels. 

And Flint realized his mistake almost a second too late.

He pivoted sharply, ducking behind one of the wooden constructs. He didn’t stop there though. He learned from experience that simply dodging wasn’t enough. Not anymore. 

He continued running, ducking and weaving around the buildings and full props, just trying to put as much distance between himself and Diana. The only way he knew to stop running, was when the bullets hit the ground and sent up sprays of dirt. Then, and only then, did he let himself collapse against the nearest wall, breathing hard and fisting a hand in the bloody fabric of his pants. 

He could only ignore the pain for so long, and it was slowly catching up to him.

He gritted his teeth and stayed up.

“Aw, come now,” Diana called. “And I thought you magic users were tough fellows.” 

Flint wanted to tear into her. He was only dimly aware that his anger was starting to cloud his judgement. He was starting to make rash decisions. Or wanting to make rash decisions. He was having trouble doing anything right now. 

“My bullets will find you,” Diana taunted. “They always do. My luck is pretty good.” 

Flint shuddered as she rounded the corner, spotting him in an instant. She already had a rifle out, and a moment later, he was in her crosshairs. 

“And my aim is even better,” she said with a smile. “And you can’t run forever.” 

With a roar, Flint gathered his flames around his fists, charging her. He had _magic_. What was he doing, just hiding behind a flimsy piece of wood that Diana could shoot around anyway? He should be out in the open, trying to get close enough to use his fists. If he kept his own distance, he wasn’t helping himself anyway.

Guns could be fast, sure, but he just had to be faster than the person holding the gun. 

And he could do that. Easy. 

He could wrestle the guns from their belts and holsters. If he could get his hands on the gunpowder, then he could control the explosions. He could melt the metal and ruin the guns, disarming Diana with a couple touches if he could just get fucking close enough. 

He covered half the distance between them, using his magic to boost his speed. He didn’t feel the heat from his own fire—usually—but now, he was so angry that it collected around his fists, licking up his forearms and elbows and burning at his face. It would never hurt him, he trusted his magic more than that, but he knew that it terrified Diana. 

She recoiled from him, slinging her rifle to her back and scrambling to pull out her pistols instead, struggling to switch between long range and shorter range weapons so quickly.

She was dedicated to her aesthetic, and while it was intimidating, it backfired on her now. She tripped over her own spurs and fell backwards, collapsing in the dirt and losing her grip on her pistol. Flint kicked it out of her reach on pure instinct.

He had the upper hand now.

His fists were crackling balls of fire and he slammed one down, aiming for Diana’s head and nowhere else. 

Even the dirt-sand floor of the room couldn’t extinguish his magic and since it wasn’t as solid as stone or wood, it didn’t crack or break in the same way. Instead, the impact was a hollow, painful thud that reverberated up to his elbow. It almost echoed through the room it was so loud, and Flint even winced at the recoil.

_And he had still somehow missed_. 

Diana had twisted out of the way, still underneath him but her head cocked just enough to the side that Flint’s fist missed her by a couple inches. 

She grabbed the front of his shirt and then planted a boot in his gut. Flint barely registered what was happening before she was flipping his over her head, slamming him into the dirt hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. 

Flint’s magic died on his fists in a pop of smoke, and he was coughing and gasping as Diana rolled to her feet. She didn’t even have to grab the gun she had lost. She pulled out more, a seemingly endless stash of weapons and ammunition that Flint just couldn’t escape.

“That was good, kid,” she said. “I think they call it caged animal desperation.” 

She pressed the barrel of one of her guns up against his forehead, the metal hot against his skin.

“But I’m a hunter for a reason.” She pulled the hammer back with a firm click. “Tough luck.” 

********

Alchemy couldn’t remember why they were fighting, only that they had to to stay alive. 

They kept up multiple illusions of themself, trying to keep Lorelai’s attention at least split between them all, but all she had to do was open her mouth and Alchemy would end up crumpled on the floor, hands over their ears as their magical copies fell apart. 

“I don’t need the audience,” Lorelai chided. “You are quite enough dear.” 

“Dressing like a dancer,” Alchemy spat, struggling to pull themself to their feet, wand still clutched tight in their grip. “But singing like a canary. A nasty trap. So what are you really?” 

Lorelai giggled. “I could ask you the same thing,” she said. “I think you’ve switched your costume several times since you got onstage, and I’d say that is in poor form. Pick a role and stick to it.” 

The last sentence was marked by a spike of pain through Alchemy’s brain, like an ice pick had been shoved into one ear and out the other. They fought through the pain and stayed standing, struggling to keep their magic up. 

“I guess that’s the difference between us,” they growled. 

Lorelai closed her mouth for a moment, and Alchemy slumped at the momentary relief. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

Alchemy spat on the floor, earning a disgusting look from Lorelai, before they pulled up a better form around themself. It was more monstrous than they normally liked, fangs and claws and fur and eyes. It was something that could roar and Alchemy did, baring their fangs at Lorelai. 

“No matter what form I take,” Alchemy growled. Their voice was rougher and deeper, more animalistic than any voice their human forms had, and they had to admit it felt dangerous. And powerful. “I’m still _me_ , you bitch.” 

They lunged, faster than ever with the speed of an animal predator, bounding on all fours on top of the rows of seating. They took a diagonal route, still aiming for the stage but wanting to be ready to dodge at a moment’s notice. 

Their paws hit the polished wood of the stage with a crash, and Alchemy had to dig their claws in to stick the landing. They snapped at the hem of Lorelai’s dress as they skidded past, missing by a finger’s breadth, but then they had traction and lunged again. 

Their teeth sunk into Lorelai’s shoulder, her enter arm down their throat as they latched on tight. She went limp with a gasp of pain, and Alchemy let her hang from their mouth as they both froze. 

The auditorium was finally silent except for the steady drip, drip of Lorelai’s blood hitting the stage. Both of them were panting, Alchemy from exhaustion and Lorelai from pain. 

And they just sat there for a moment.

Neither of them moved, even though Alchemy wanted to shake her until she stopped moving. 

“Well?” Lorelai asked, bracing her free hand on the side of Alchemy’s muzzle. She didn’t push, probably couldn’t risk the damage to her arm, but her fingers dug into the fur tight. “Are you going to end me?” 

Alchemy . . . . wasn’t sure. They wanted to at first. They vaguely remembered being filled with a sharp anger towards Lorelai but now that they had her in their jaws, they weren’t entirely sure why they were even fighting in the first place. 

_Jury_? Memories came to them in small phrases and single words. None of it seemed to fit together quite right and at the end of it, Alchemy was more confused than before. They hated not knowing, not remembering. 

They spat out Lorelai and fell back, form melting around them until they were human again, small and fragile and crying. Their hands were fisted in their hair, tears streaming down their cheeks as they tried to remember something, _anything_. Why were they here? Why had they been fighting? Who was Lorelai and why was she bad again? 

Alchemy couldn’t kill her when they had so many questions. 

“What did you do to me?!” they demanded. “I can’t . . . I can’t remember! I can’t remember anything?!” 

Lorelai pushed herself to her feet, visibly shaking but obviously trying not to let the pain show. Her shoulder was still gushing blood, and it hung limp at her side. Alchemy would guess it was useless for the fight, but they couldn’t focus on that. 

They were trying to remember anything before this room. Anything before this stage. Was there even a world out there? All they knew were the spotlights and the empty seats that filled the rest of the room. Anyone besides Lorelai had been wiped from their mind and no matter how hard they tried, they could remember anything else. 

“I guess,” Lorelai said once she had caught her breath. Even her voice was shaking, though she tried to hold her head high. “Not all of us are made for the stage.” 

She tried to strike a pose before gasping in pain at the effort, almost collapsing again, only managing to catch herself at the last possible moment. 

“At least you are where you are supposed to be,” she spat. She was much less composed now. Strands of her hair had pulled free from its tight style and now hung in her face. Half of her dress was torn and shredded and everything else was covered in blood. 

“You did something to me,” Alchemy said. They knew there was something missing, there was something in their gut that told them that something was missing. _Someone_. All they knew was Lorelai had done something to take it from them. 

“Oh, I did,” Lorelai said, smile a bit wild but still victorious. “How _smart_ of you. Going to kill me over it? Like the animal you are?” 

Alchemy . . . wasn’t sure. They weren’t sure of anything anymore. 

They stared up at Lorelai and her condescending smile and the blood oozing out of her wounds. They then looked out over the empty seats. They almost couldn’t see with how bright the spotlights were, but if they squinted, they could just make it out. 

That was something familiar. Alchemy knew it. It was the only thing they knew for sure, and it was comforting, knowing that deep down, there was something that Lorelai couldn’t take from them. 

It gave them hope. 

Alchemy was supposed to be here. They knew it. Whether that was on stage or it was in this room or it was fighting Lorelai. They were supposed to be here and they _knew_ it. 

They looked up at Lorelai again, her face still triumphant and gloating. Alchemy wasn’t sure if they were going to kill her just yet, but they knew they had to fight. 

With a deep breath to calm themself, they pulled their magic around them once again as they pushed themself to their feet. 

Lorelai’s smile dropped as they rose, and Alchemy clenched their fists, tightening their hold on their magic. 

“Won’t even show your true face,” Lorelai taunted. “Of course. You’re a magic user. Why should I expect anything but cowardice and tricks?” 

Alchemy bared their, admittedly human, teeth. “Just,” they said. “Fight me.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are getting a little harder for our heroes uwu

Lance was playing with him. 

Eira could tell. He had small nicks and cuts up and down his arms, some on his face too. More than once, Lance had had him pinned against a corner, his own sword pressed against his chest only for him to fall back to prolong the fight. Eira felt like a toy, and Lance was a dog having its fun. 

And Lance kept stealing his weapons. No matter how many times he took the sword from Eira’s grasp, he could materialize another one so that wasn’t part of the problem. By now though, the ice swords were scattered around the room. Lance used them flippantly, tossing them aside when, throwing them, discarding them whenever he wanted only to summon another or steal one from Eira. 

Eira was getting frustrated with it all. 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting bored already,” Lance taunted, wagging his own swords at him. “Come on, this is barely a fight.” 

Eira was out of breath. And bleeding. And losing his advantage. 

If he even had one in the first place. 

“You’re not making this any fun,” Lance whined. “I thought fighting you would at least be a challenge.”  
  


Eira sneered. 

“You want a challenge,” he muttered. “Come and get a challenge.” 

Besides stealing his weapons, Lance stole his entire fighting style too, from footwork to his defense to his offense. Eira had practiced and trained his entire life with his ice-y saber, learning a perfect fighting style that was quick to attack with minimal holes on his defense. So far, it had made him a force to reckon with, dangerous and deadly, and usually his opponents could do nothing against it. 

Eira never considered that he would have to fight himself one day.

With a yell, he charged Lance again, determined to get the upper hand this time. 

He slammed his blade against two replicas of its own self, putting all his strength behind the blow. 

Lance didn’t lose an inch of ground. His grinned at the sudden show of strength, looking more excited for the fight than ever. He parried gracefully, spinning around and catching Eira’s blade on his own before they could even connect. 

Eira didn’t let up. He typically wielded his saber one-handedly, usually relying on precise slashes and jabs to overcome his opponent. Now, he swung it in huge arches, slamming it down as hard as he could in an effort to wear out Lance’s defense. 

“Finally got a fire under your ass?” Lance taunted. “Finally ready to play?” 

And that was just the moment Eira was waiting for. 

He spun in a complete circle, grabbing his hilt with both hands and dumping magic into the blade as he built up as much momentum that he could. The blade doubled and then tripled in size, suddenly heavier and deadlier than the thin saber Eira used to have. 

And Lance wasn’t expecting it. 

He brought up his own two blades to block Eira's new khyber sword, but with its new weight and the force Eira put behind the blow, they shattered upon impact. 

Completely unarmed now, Lance staggered back, though he was an experienced enough fighter not to lose his stance. 

But Eira wasn’t giving him a second to recover. He hit again, harder and harder, forcing Lance back as he twisted and stumbled as he tried to dodge. 

And with a grunt, Lance summoned another sword with a flash of light, catching Eira's blade right before it could slash through his chest. It wasn't an imitation of Eira's sabers this time too. 

Lance now wielded a blade as thick and heavy as Eira's own with a jagged tooth along one side. It was metal as well, instead of ice. Finally, Lance had a weapon of his own rather than one he had stolen from Eira. 

They locked blades like that for a moment, chest to chest almost, each out of breath as they tried to overpower the other. They finally had to disengage with a grunt, jumping back to reassess the same opponent with a new weapon. 

"Looks like the old dog does have new tricks," Lance said. He even looked impressed, but with a practice swing of his own bigger, serrated blade his confidence was back. "This is finally starting to get fun." 

With a second flash, he swapped out his weapon again. Eira was slowly getting used to how Lance actually fought, and while the constant switching off weapons could be confusing, Eira had stopped being surprised at some point during the last ten times he had done it. Up until this point, he had only summoned more copies of Eira's own ice saber, stealing more from Eira when he ran out. Now though, the flash of light that took the shape of the weapon grew larger and larger, arching up over Lance's shoulder until he was bent over with the weight. 

The floor even cracked and buckled a bit when the sword-weapon- _thing_ finally solidified, driving Lance downward with its weight and bulk. 

And it was _huge_ , impossibly so. The blade was as wide as Eira was and twice as tall. It curved across both of Lance's shoulders, and while it had to weigh as much as a boulder, he didn't seem that perturbed by it. He wrapped both hands around the hilt that had to be as this as one of Eira's thighs— _his face went hot at that thought_ —and then Lance hefted the entire thing off his back. 

A thick heavy chain that dangled off the end of the hilt and it hit the floor with a clang as Lance moved. And it dragged behind him as he took a step towards Eira. 

"What's the matter?" he said with a laugh. The familiar but terrifying smile and glint in his eye. "Suddenly lost your bite?" 

Eira wasn't even sure he would be able to block a single blow from the weapon. It was so big, where Lance had stolen it from, Eira had no idea but now it was here and now he would have to fight it. 

He would have to fight it. 

_He would have to fight Lance._

Eira swallowed hard and raised his sword. Even though it was weighed twice as much as his typical saber, it felt miniscule when compared to what Lance now wielded. But Eira didn't have much of a choice otherwise as Lance hefted his sword up. 

And swung. 

********

River was ducked behind a stretcher that she had tipped over. Her entire body was shaking uncontrollably with how many toxins Dock had pumped in and how many she had thrown up. Her vision swam and she felt light headed. Even though she got rid of the poison as soon as she could, Dock just waited longer and longer before sending the poison to her body. 

The only upside to any of it was that he seemed just as unsure on his feet as she did. Maybe not as much. She wasn't completely sure. 

River had figured out that she had a better chance at surviving if she stayed out of his line of sight. She wasn't sure if Dock relied entirely on sight but so far it had at least slowed him down. If River could stall long enough, her body had a better chance of bouncing back and if she could get the upper hand, then she might be able to act fast enough to render him unconscious. 

Or something. 

River wasn’t sure she wanted to do anything other than that.

Plus, with the way all the poisons and toxins were affecting her, she was having a hard time focusing with her magic. It slipped through her fingers where she normally would have been able to latch on tight, and maybe it was because the room she was in was so cut off from the rest of the world, but her surroundings just felt _dead_.

River felt alone. And sick. And tired. And she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to survive. 

“Come on out, now,” Dock said. Somehow his voice retained that warm comforting tone, like River was one of his patients and he was delivering bad news. “This isn’t the way professionals are supposed to act.” 

River wanted to yell at him. Like really, truly yell at him at how wrong and dumb and stupid he was. He kept insisting that they were the same or similar, and she just wanted to yell about how wrong that was. 

She also wanted to throw up.

With a groan, River clutched her stomach. She had vomited so many times that almost nothing came up at this point anyway, and stomach acid burned her throat in a way that made her eyes water as she gagged through it all. She really, _really_ didn’t want to throw up again.

“This is just making things more difficult for yourself,” Dock said. While his voice was still level, every breath he took in between words was wheezing and strained, like his throat was closing up or his lungs were starting to shut down. “And harder for me.” 

River just needed a couple more moments to breathe. She didn’t even have the energy to yell, just slumped back against her hiding spot, wondering what she could do to convince Dock to just let her walk out of here. They were both tired at this point, and in pain, and just entirely over the whole fighting-to-the-death thing that everyone apparently insisted on. 

River didn’t like it. 

“Can we just talk?!” she called out. She wasn’t really sure where Dock was in the room or if he was walking around. She just tried to yell loud enough. 

“Why would we do that?” Dock mused. He _sounded_ tired. 

“It just seems so pointless,” River said. She was trying to work through her argument while she made it, weighing the imaginary options in each hand as she tried to figure out what she had to say. “Right? Can’t we find some common ground? I thought you and I would be able to do that.” 

Dock hummed to himself and took a deep rattling breath. 

River’s body was starting to mend itself together a little bit more. The room wasn’t tipped entirely to one side anymore, and the curtains had stopped melting straight into the floor. Maybe if she could get her feet underneath her, stand up, then she would have more of a chance.

“I asked to have a discussion at the beginning of this all,” Dock said. His foot falls were heavy and labored just as much as his breathing. “Medical professional to medical professional. And you declined.” 

“I just had a change of heart,” River said. She knocked a fist against her prosthetics, fiddled with a couple of wires, and then hesitantly pushed a little energy into them. She didn’t have much to spare, but even a little boost would help. “Isn’t that a good thing?” 

Dock’s hand came down hard and sudden on the edge of the table next to her head, making her nearly jump out of her skin. He loomed over the top of her cover, leaning heavily on the metal gurney for support as he paused to try to catch his breath. With his mask still covering his face and the black glass as opaque as ever, it was nearly impossible to judge how hurt he actually was. 

River took her ques as best she could, but for all she knew, Dock could be bluffing. 

“Come here,” Dock said, and for the first time, his voice dipped into more of a growl. 

River didn’t even get a chance to try to get away as he leaned over the table and grabbed her arm with his other hand. 

The fabric of his gloves was rough against her skin, and he was strong enough that he could just drag her up and over the table. And River gasped in pain and alarm as her feet left the floor and she just dangled from his grip for a few seconds that seemed to stretch on for longer than necessary. And then Dock set her down in front of him. 

He had to sort of bend over to keep his grip on her, using his other hand to continue leaning on the overturned gurney for support. 

They just sat there for a moment, both breathing hard. While she was this close to him, River could smell the acrid burn of chemicals and poisons. Not each would have a smell or taste—that she knew—but with the way Dock combined and mixed and consumed them so recklessly, the mix of them all produced quite the stench. 

River wrinkled her nose and pulled against his grip unconsciously. 

She didn’t get far at all. 

Dock didn’t even seem to notice her attempted escape, too busy trying not to cough his lungs up apparently. He pressed a fist against his chest and swallowed his coughs.

“What agreement do you think we would be able to reach?” he asked. 

This close, River could also hear the effort in his voice too. It was a little strained, a little hoarse, not as put together as it had been at the start of this all. Maybe he was just as tired as River was. Maybe she could convince him to step down. It would be a huge sigh of relief. 

“We’re both tired,” River said. It seemed like the best place to start. “We don’t have to kill each other. We—you and I—we aren’t like the others. They might need to . . . _prove_ themselves like that, but you and I don’t need that.” She paused, not even believing her own words for a moment. “Do we?” 

Dock sighed, and the beak of his mask tipped down. Reading his body language was a bit harder, and River kept thinking of him as a bird instead of a human. It threw her off sort of, and she had to mentally correct herself every time she slipped up.

“I understand what you’re saying,” Dock said after a pause. He cocked his head to the side, and River was able to stare her reflection in the eye as she was captured in one single round of black glass. “You are I—we are different from the others.” 

River’s arm was still gripped tight, his hand covering her entire bicep. 

“They are so violent and baseless, squabbling over the smallest things,” Dock went on. “They don’t seem to understand that there are some things that aren’t worth taking sides over. In a medical field, we need to focus on what is truly important, helping our patients and discovering novel ways of healing the sick and helping the injured.”

River nodded hesitantly. Dock’s grip had tightened enough, River was worried it would start to bruise.

She didn’t want to struggle. 

“Which is exactly why you and I are so different,” Dock said. “You and I know what is really important.” 

River couldn’t help but wince as his grip tightened even further. She brought a hand up to push against his grip almost unconsciously, wanting to twist her arm free but scared she would do even more damage to her joints.

“What’s important,” Dock continued, as if he didn’t notice that River was struggling at all. His mask had tipped up, as if he were looking over her shoulder into the distance. “Is the _patient_. The one who is hurting. Helping them. And if you can’t help them, you study and research solutions that will help others subjected to the same ailments.” 

He finally pushed off the table he was leaning on, rifling through his pockets. He had to straighten a bit and that pulled River up onto her tiptoes, her muscles straining and teeth gritted as she was almost hung from her shoulder. 

Dock found what he was looking for apparently as he pulled a syringe of innocuous-looking clear liquid. With his thumb, he snapped the protective cover off the needle and raised it over River’s head, ready to plunge it down into the meat of her shoulder. 

“What is important,” he said, and River could hear the smile in his voice. “Is finding just how far the human body can go.” 

********

“Stay next to me!” Doppel yelled at himself. 

“I’m trying!” he yelled back. 

Bandy was good at separating them though. He barely even had to try as lounged on his chaise, swapping dishes on the table to send them flying at both Doppels. And each time, they somehow dodged in different directions, ending up further and further apart until Bandy swapped them.

It always turned Doppel’s stomach. 

He had thrown up already. Twice. His stomach was empty and now every switch made his head spin. It threw him off balance every time, and the other Doppel didn’t look like he was doing any better.

“Come now,” Bandy called. He didn’t even have to worry about keeping his distance. Every time one Doppel got even remotely close, he just switched them with some other item in the room and set their progress back all over again. He had barely broken a sweat this whole time. "You're no fun." 

"Yeah," Doppel said, clamping a hand over his mouth as his stomach heaved. "Fun." 

"I don't see why this is such a problem," Bandy said with a wave of his hand. 

The glove on his hand swapped places with the wine bottle on the far side of the table, and he took a swig. He even propped his feet up on the table, swapping his other glove for a fat turkey leg that he took an animalistic bite out of, making a show of chewing and swallowing. 

"Aren't you copies of each other?" he asked and swapped the wine bottle for an identical one and took another long swallow. "So when I switch you up, is it really that big of a deal?" 

He switched them, as if just to show off, and Doppel nearly lost his feet. They had been completely across the room that time. 

He fell against the wall that his other self had been hiding near, thankful for that at least. He hated that Bandy was able to throw him off balance so easily. It took barely any effort on his part. Bandy had barely even left his spot on the couch. He hadn't even broken a sweat while Doppel was about to lose his lunch. 

Bandy just took another long drink of wine and looked them both over, a sly smile curling around the glass mouth of the bottle. His eyes always seemed to settle on Doppel. The real one. Or the one that wasn't as timid as the other, that was a better way to put it. Doppel had stopped trying to figure out which of them was the so-called original ages ago. It hurt his brain too much to think about and he was never able to come up with a good answer. 

But now Bandy stared at him, eyes burning into his very core as if he could see Doppel for who he was. _Really and truly_. Even though he spouted off all that shit about copies and originals and how they were the same, he always looked to Doppel, every time, without fail. 

He smirked at him. Knowing. Cocky. Stupid. 

Doppel wanted to punch him. Right in his dumb stupid face. 

“Copies should be my specialty,” Bandy said. “Switching you out. It’s fun to watch the same thing switch places with itself. Don’t you think?” 

Doppel didn’t think that. He was going to be sick. 

Bandy raised his hand to snap his fingers, maybe to switch them a second time or maybe to switch something else, Doppel wasn’t really sure. He still tensed up, preparing himself for the sudden shift in position and the resulting motion sickness that would come with it. 

“Stop!!” 

And both of them looked at Doppel. 

The second one. Or the first one. No, the timid one.

He had his hands out, like he was the mediator between Bandy and Doppel. He looked a bit more exhausted than he normally did, the bags under his eyes a bit bigger and his cheeks sunk in a little more. He looked almost skeletal, and tired, and just over everything that was happening in the room. 

“We’re not copies!” Doppel said. 

Bandy blinked, either surprised or impressed. Or bored. 

Doppel took a deep breath, hands still out. 

Doppel had no idea where he was going with this sudden speech.

“Is that what you wanted to hear, Bandy?” he asked. “We aren’t copies of each other. We aren’t interchangeable. It isn’t a perfect switch.” 

“Come now,” Bandy said. “Aren’t you all about reflections and mirrors? What is a reflection but a perfect copy? Something easily replaced and easily mimicked.” 

“That may be the case for some reflections but not for us,” Doppel said. 

And honestly, Doppel was impressed by the speech he was giving. 

“We aren’t perfect reflections of each other,” Doppel went on. “Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Some things can’t be replaced, even if it is a reflection.” 

And that was the first time Doppel had seen Bandy hesitate.

Maybe, if he hesitated enough, Doppel’s stomach would stop doing flip flops and he would actually be able to attack. If one Doppel did the distracting, then the other Doppel could focus on an attack and then maybe this fight could finally be over. Just one good blast of energy and everything could be over. 

“Not replaceable?” Bandy asked. His voice was a bit . . . . hollow. 

“We aren’t!” Doppel insisted. “We’re . . . unique. It’s hard to explain, but even a reflection can’t be perfect. No one is the same, really, and reflections . . . are so much more complicated than that. Even a mirror has flaws, no one can be perfect.” 

Bandy finally looked away from Doppel, down at his feet instead. He seemed to actually think for a moment, like he hadn’t been before. 

“ _Please_ ,” Doppel pleaded. “How much of a difference is there between us? Reflection or not. Curse or magic. _You_ of all people should know that."

Bandy looked up at him sharply, eyes narrowing. It was the first time that Doppel had been able to get a reaction out of him.

“You think I’m hiding?!” he demanded. “That I work for the Jury because I’m weak?! That’s the exact opposite! I work for the Jury because I’m _smart_ , because I know what they’ll do to me the moment I stop being useful. You think the magic users Creed drained were bad? Well that’s not even a start!” 

Doppel nodded, had been nodding the moment Bandy started talking.

"You know," he said softly. Gently. Like he didn't want to startle a wild animal. "You _know_. A reflection is replaceable.” He sounded almost as scared as Bandy did. “Even if it isn’t a perfect copy. And it’s terrifying to be replaceable. _I know_.” 

And Doppel didn’t know he even had been feeling this. 

He thought he knew himself.

Bandy slumped back against his couch and took another drink of wine, slower this time, like he was thinking about a lot. He took a deep breath and another drink. 

“Do you really think that?” he asked. He was looking at Doppel again, not the timid one, and his gaze wasn’t as friendly anymore. Apparently, he had decided which one of them he liked and which one he didn’t. 

Second Doppel opened his mouth but Bandy waved a hand at him, just to silence him not to switch him, but he still braced himself for it.

“Not you,” he said. “I’ve heard enough from you.” He pointed at Doppel with a dark look. “I want to hear from _you_.” 

Doppel swallowed hard, uncomfortable now that the fight had come to a standstill and all the attention was back on him. He still leaned against the wall, not that he needed the support but just so that he wasn’t just standing there. 

“Magic is magic,” he said. “You and I? Use magic to survive. Before I met that group of idiots—” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, back at the entrance to the room to the rest of the mansion. “I was just out for myself too. We were just out of the streets, trying to survive, doing our . . . best. _You_ know. And in situations like that, you never— _never_ —want to be replaceable.” 

Bandy nodded hesitantly but didn’t look completely convinced. 

“We don’t hate you,” Doppel blurted. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. “We didn’t even want to fight anyway. It was Heartless’s idea to come here, we would have stayed away if we had the choice. Survival and everything.” 

Doppel was aware he was babbling now, a horrible habit when he couldn’t read his enemy. He kept spouting excuses, trying to shift the blame anywhere else, trying to get Bandy to focus on anyone but him. It was a defensive tactic from when Doppel had lived on the streets and old habits died hard.

"We're all just doing what we can to stay alive!" he said. He was running out of things to say but his mouth just wouldn't shut up. "It's . . . a good thing! _We—_ " He gestured between all three of them. "Are the good guys." 

Bandy's facade finally broke and he laughed, covering his smile with a hand. He pushed himself to his feet and swept his jacket around himself, finishing off the last of the wine and then tossing the bottle aside. 

Doppel half expected it to shatter when it hit the marble but it just ricocheted hollowly and skidded off to some dark corner of the room. 

Bandy wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and grinned. “You’ve convinced me!” he said. 

Doppel wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. 

“Let’s just switch things up one last time,” Bandy said, and snapped both of his fingers at once.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new character foils

Doppel switched to a completely different room, and then he immediately yelped at the sight of Lance wielding a sword that was way too big to be practical. How was he even holding it? It looked like it had to weigh a million pounds. And it looked like it could cut Doppel into quarters with one swipe.

“What the hell?!” Lance said. He twisted around, scanning the room in one big circle before settling his gaze back on Doppel. “Where’s Eira?! _He’s_ the one I’m fighting.” 

Doppel really had no idea what had happened, and he was just as confused Lance was. He didn’t even get a chance to answer as Lance growled in frustration and heaved the sword up. He didn’t even have to move that much since the sword added a dozen feet to his reach, just swung it across the room. 

“Head’s up!” Doppel yelled at himself. 

He threw up a mirror to shield himself as Doppel jumped away, dodging by getting as far out of the way as possible. 

Lance’s sword sunk deep into the mirror, breaking through the surface like it was water as it disappeared inside. 

“Now!” Doppel called. Everything was happening so fast that he was shaking. Keeping his magic up wasn’t that much of a problem but keeping it steady really was. And Lance’s sword was heavily than he expected, Doppel was almost struggling with his mirror.

Luckily, Doppel also acted fast. He threw up his own mirror, and the sword exited. Not the same sword, just a replica. But it was just as sharp and big and dangerous. Doppel swung his mirror across the room and the sword moved with it. Lance had to let go of his own weapon to jump back just to avoid being cut entirely in half by his own weapon.

The mirrors and the replica shattered against a wall and the shards fell uselessly to the floor, disappearing as Doppel let go of the magic. They were all unarmed again.

Once Lance landed safely, he scowled at them both. “Stealing _my_ weapons?!” he said. His hands were balled into tight fists, face already going red.

Doppel was still trying to figure out what had happened.

He was still trying to process the sudden change in locations when Lance summoned another weapon with a flash of light. It wasn’t as extravagant or over the top as the previous sword. It wasn’t even a sword this time. Lance held a length of rope with both hands with circular blades on each end. Doppel could only imagine how dangerous it would be when he started swinging it.

He brought his mirror up on instinct, reflecting the weapon, while Doppel reached into the mirror and pulled it out, keeping them equally matched. 

Lance looked furious though, face twisting darkly as he scowled and bared his teeth. 

“Those are my weapons!” he yelled. “You have no right to take them!” 

Doppel was shocked for a moment and just stared down at the weapon that he now held. He exchanged a look with himself and then he smirked, knowing exactly how to push Lance’s buttons. 

“I guess we both rely on stealing weapons,” he said, pulling out his own version of the blades and rope. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

He had no idea how to wield the weapon, and he took a couple practice swings with it before realizing he _really_ had no idea and was more likely to take off his own hand that he was to do anything against Lance. Still, the way it made Lance absolutely seethe with anger was worth it.

With a growl that was more animalistic than human, Lance lunged at him. He clearly knew how to wield the weapon because he brought it up and was swinging it so fast it whistled as it cut through the air. 

Both Doppels had to scramble backwards to get out of the way, forming mirrors for each other to jump into just to get out of the way in time. They jumped out moments after, on the opposite side of the room using two new mirrors, and that was a good thing too. Lance crashed through the original mirrors, shattering them in an instant before whirling on them again. 

But Doppel was in his element now. 

_This was the switch Bandy had been talking about._

Doppel grinned and shifted his grip on the weapon he didn’t know how to use. Maybe that clown was good for something. He pulled up even more mirrors, enough so that he had an escape route anywhere you looked. And second Doppel did the same thing until they were completely surrounded by a dome of mirrors. 

Lance didn’t seem to understand what they were doing, only glared at them and kept spinning his weapon. 

“This is much better,” Doppel said, finally stepping forward to face Lance in the domed arena of mirrors that they had made. “Come on, big man, hit me as hard as you can.” 

Lance seemed completely taken over by anger as he lunged before Doppel could even finish speaking. 

He just ducked into a mirror, jumping out of one that hung directly over Lance and stepping on his shoulders as he jumped out of the way. Lance swiped at him, and Doppel winced at the brush of a blade against his leg. But then he somersaulted to stick his landing and he was good again. 

Second Doppel was there immediately, jumping in to occupy Lance so that Doppel could scramble to safety. 

He somehow knew how to use the weapon better than Doppel did. He was able to exchange a few blows with Lance before jumping into the safety of a mirror. Lance was right on his tail though and shattered the escape route directly behind him. 

Doppel quickly replaced it with a new sheet of glass, smirking as second Doppel jumped out of another pane, already to safety. 

“Is that really all you can do?” he taunted. “This isn’t even fun.” 

“I’ll fucking slit your throat,” Lance hissed darkly, gripping his weapon even tighter. 

“If you can get your hands on me,” Doppel said, pushing up the tip of his nose and making a face at Lance. 

He jumped backways into a mirror, pushing his reflection so he was on every single pane of glass, surrounding Lance completely as he turned in dumb circles. Like a dog that didn’t know which toy to grab first. 

Doppel laughed at him, the noise duplicated and overlapping as all of his reflections did the same thing. 

“Come on, Lance,” he said, and each of his reflections held up their own versions of the roped blades. “Let’s fight.” 

********

Eira wasn’t expecting to be teleported but he was experienced enough to not to let it throw him off. His sword melted from his grasp, but that was to be expected. Still, to enter a strange place with your weapon already drawn was in poor taste.

Eira was already on his back, on the floor, with the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead. 

He didn’t even register who was holding the weapon, only realized that they were already pulling the trigger and he needed to act fast or have his brains blown out. He grabbed the barrel of the pistol, sending a blast of ice up the metal to freeze the hammer and the gunpowder. 

The bullet got halfway down the barrel before Eira froze it over. The resulting gunshot was more of a pop of noise with a hiss as all the heat was extinguished, and Eira was able to roll to safety, bringing up his sword next. 

He barely got a chance to marvel over the grasp of his own magic or be impressed that he had just done _that_ , as his new opponent was pulling out another weapon—a rifle this time. 

“Who’re you?!” they demanded, settling their aim back on him and in an instant. At least they didn’t immediately fire on him. 

Eira’s face went hot when he finally got a look at his opponent. He clamped a hand over his eyes and spun around, losing any grip he had on his magic as he sputtered in surprise. He pulled his jacket up to cover his peripheral so there wasn’t a chance at him seeing _anything_.

“Cover up!” he said. “Oh my god, do you just _wear_ _that_?!” 

“Name’s Diana,” the person said with a laugh. “I guess you’re new here, huh?” 

“I don’t know!” Eira said. He still had his back to her, not trusting himself to turn around. “I just—could you please put something on? We can fight. . . just . . . put something over . . . your . . . your _self_. _Please_.” 

Diana just laughed, and Eira listened to the rattle as she spun that barrel of a revolver. “Is this what this all is now?” she asked. “At least the last one gave me at least a little bit of a chase.” 

Eira still didn’t turn around but he did cock his head at that. “Last one?” he said. 

“What was his name now?” Diana mused. The spurs on her boots rattled as she walked forward. “Sorry, I don’t often pay attention to the names of my quarries.” The scratch and hiss as she struck a match, and Eira listened as she puffed on a cigar. She spoke out of the corner of her mouth now. “Name, name, name. Something with fire. Like his fists. What was it now?” 

“Flint?” Eira said. What had that idiot gotten himself into? 

Diana snapped her fingers. “That was it!” she said. “He was fun to play with. Got away before I could put a bullet in his head. Maybe that’s why you’re here.” 

Eira stiffened. He didn’t trust himself to turn around, not yet. But he knew he couldn’t just sit here for long. He could listen to Diana walk and move, so he could keep track of where she was even though he couldn’t see her. He could listen to her load up her guns, and he was just sitting here, giving her an easy target. 

A sword wouldn’t do much against long-range guns, but Eira had to do something. 

He dropped his jacket, keeping his eyes squeezed shut so that he didn’t catch a glimpse of anything. His face was still hot just thinking about it. It. Nothing! He took a deep breath to focus himself and tapped into his magic again. 

Normally, it always had the same shape, and Eira didn’t have enough skill to challenge that shape. Besides, a saber had always suited him just fine and Eira had trained himself to master it. Now though, he had to use every bit of skill he had to dip into his magic and not let it default to its old shape. 

And he was working from memory. 

The ice flowed into his hands more like water as he tried to figure out how all the shapes fit together. He skipped the hammer and the trigger. The tray that would hold the gunpowder. He didn’t need any of that. The butt would have to fit snugly into his shoulder, and Eira wanted the barrel long enough that it would settle naturally in his hands. He shaped it carefully before letting the ice harden. 

He didn’t dare look over his work, just explored it with his hands. 

It felt like an extension of himself, like his magic always did, and Eira was almost surprised. The only time his magic came naturally or felt good and proper to him was as a saber, but now that he held the crude rifle in his hands, he was shocked at how easily it had come to him. 

He stiffened as Diana walked a couple more steps. He had a rough idea where she was standing, and if his memory served him correctly, he had a couple different options for cover around him. He wasn’t that impressed with the cardboard cutouts would give him that much protection but something was better than nothing. 

“Why do you serve the Jury?” he asked. It was just a question to stall, Eira didn’t really care if Diana answered or not. He just wanted to get her talking, distracted. 

“I don’t talk with my prey,” Diana said. She took a deep breath through her cigar, and Eira could smell the bite of smoke as she exhaled. “Gives ‘em too many thoughts, I think.” 

Eira huffed a laugh. Too many thoughts indeed. He kept most of his back to her, using his body to hide his new weapon as much as possible. He wanted to keep the element of surprise as long as he could. 

“I will admit,” Diana said, messing around with one of her guns, probably loading more bullets into the chamber by the sounds of it. “This feels less like a hunt and more like a firing squad. Not entirely my thing, but . . . if it gets the job done? . . . well, you know what they say.” 

Eira didn’t know what they say.

Diana had stopped moving now, too busy fiddling with her guns as she prepared to kill him, but now she was just as much a sitting target that he was. If he moved fast enough, then he would be able to get his gun up and fired first. If there was one thing that Eira knew, it was that guns made fights quick and dirty. 

A less honorable way of fighting in his opinion, but Eira didn’t have much of a choice at the moment. 

He kept his eyes closed, forcing his mind to think of anything but the person he was fighting. 

“There’s more than just predator and prey,” he said. “Especially in a fight.” 

Diana barked a laugh. “Whatever you say, kid,” she said. 

She was messing with the hammer of her gun, Eira could hear it. He could almost picture it. She would only be half paying attention to him and for a few precious seconds, he would have that slim, slim advantage. He couldn’t think about it anymore. It was act now, or be killed.

Eira spun around and brought the gun up. 

He had . . . never fired a gun before. 

But it was his magic and while he wasn’t even good at using that sometimes, this time it was different. Somehow. The gun settled against his shoulder and he pressed his cheek to the ice. It stung but only for a moment. Eira didn’t have to line up his sights since he was fighting blind, but his body did it on instinct. There wasn’t a trigger to pull so when he was fairly certain that he had Diana in his crosshairs, he just took a deep breath to steady himself before pouring magic into the weapon.

It didn’t fire. Not necessarily. But Eira still felt the burning ball of ice leave the end of the barrel, propelled by his magic and just as deadly as a regular bullet.

And from Diana’s grunt of pain and the thud as her body hit the ground, Eira would guess he hit his mark. 

He didn’t have to reload, just pumped out a little more magic to put another ball of ice into the barrel and aimed his gun at where he assumed Diana now lay. “Do you give up?” he said. He wasn’t nearly as excited as executing someone like this either. 

Diana was panting for breath and when she spoke, she spat out her words. “You can open your eyes.” 

Eira almost didn’t trust her but then again, she probably didn’t have much to lose at this point. He cracked one eye open at a time, opening them completely when he realized Diana was indeed sprawled across the ground, poncho bunched over her chest as she presumably held it against a wound. 

He was aiming three feet to the left into the dirt, miscalculating where she had landed by a long shot. He shifted his aim to her head quickly, not trusting her for a second.

From the blue-grey streaks stretching across her collarbones and up her neck, Eira would take a wild guess and say that his shot had struck true. Not directly in her heart, but close enough to make sure she couldn’t fight back. There wouldn’t be any blood, Eira’s magic was too cold for that, but he figured that frostbite would set in quickly anyway unless he did something.

Her guns had scattered around her when she had fallen and while most of them were still well within her reach, Eira didn’t think she would try to grab any of them at the moment. 

She looked scared. And confused. Like she had no idea how she had ended up on the floor at the end of Eira’s gun. 

“Not used to being prey?” he asked. He couldn’t help himself. 

Diana sneered and spat her cigar at his feet, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, her lipstick smearing across her cheek with the motion. “Just get it over with,” she said. “We all know you want to.” 

Eira pulled back his magic, able to control it more than ever. And the new ability to do even that went straight to his head. Eira had never been able to control his magic and now, he pulled back on it to create a nonlethal shot—not that Diana needed to know—and sent it straight into her head. 

********

Flint didn’t know where he was. 

One moment, he had been laying on his back, one of Diana’s guns pressed against his forehead. The next moment, he was laying on his back in a completely different room and Creed was standing over him, one palm out as he drained Flint’s magic. 

Creed’s eyes went wide though and he stumbled back, having to catch himself on his cane. 

“What’s going on?!” he demanded, looking briefly around the room. “Where’s Heartless? Is this some magic trick?” 

Flint rolled to his feet, winced at the fresh ooze of blood out of the hole in his leg. But other than that, he was . . . fine. Weirdly. It felt like he could finally relax knowing that Diana wasn’t going to shoot him, and Creed didn’t exactly strike an imposing figure. It looked like his coat had been clawed by an animal, though he still clutched it tight.

"I don't really . . . . know what this is," Flint said truthfully. He rolled his shoulders, finally getting a chance to breathe. "But I guess I'm fighting you now." 

Flames coiled around his fists in his eagerness, crackling and hot and familiar. 

Creed's eyes widened in a panic, and he closed his hand on Flint's magic. The flames went out with a pop, but other than that Flint wasn't affected. 

"Oh, you're the magic stealer," he mused, looking over his hands and then clenching them into fists. "Good thing, I don't need magic to kick your ass. My fists will do just fine." 

"Guards!" Creed yelled, half turning in an effort to retreat out the door. "Guards!!" 

"You're not going anywhere, not this time," Flint said with a growl and a smile. 

********

Heartless could finally breathe. 

He wasn’t sure what pulled him away from the room and from Creed’s hold, but he was somewhere completely new. It still looked like the mansion, but instead of a huge open room, it looked more like a medical amphitheater with a huge stage at the center. 

He was already in the clutches of a huge robed figure with an ominous bird mask. Heartless didn’t even get to ask for introductions or anything before they were jabbing a syringe into his neck, pressing the plunger and injecting the icy contents directly into his bloodstream. 

The figure cocked its head, as if it were confused why Heartless was there. 

And then when Heartless realized he recognized the figure. 

Dock was his name. A sort of medical figure within the Jury. Why Heartless was here instead of fighting Creed, he wasn’t quite sure, but if he had to fight the medical man instead, then that was what he would do.

He shoved away from Dock, ripping out the needle in the process and throwing it aside. Without Creed stealing his magic, Heartless’s heart thrummed with energy. He was finally ready for a fight and he brought up his fists, ready for anything Dock might do.

“Why are you still alive?” Dock asked. His voice was an angry growl, tinged with effort. Heartless would make a guess that whoever he had been fighting before had done a good amount of damage before Heartless had been swapped in. 

“What are you even talking about?” Heartless said. 

“The needle,” Dock said and leaned heavily on an overturned table to catch his breath. “That was enough arsenic to fell ten men. I’ve tested it on many patients.” 

Heartless looked at the needle he had thrown across the stage. It was indeed empty, and the point where it had stuck into his neck was sore where the needle had torn through skin with its rough exit. He rubbed his hand across the small pinpoint of pain but other than that, he didn’t feel anything.

“Oh,” he said when he realized what probably went wrong with Dock’s plan of attack. He grinned, finally more in his element with an opponent that wasn’t going to stop his heart with a snap of their fingers. “I bet you're used to dealing with your patients when they are still alive, huh?” 

“What are you talking about?” Dock said. 

Heartless thumped a fist against his chest. He could feel the thrum of magic inside, keeping him going and keeping him upright, but there wasn’t a heartbeat. There had never been a heartbeat. And he would wager a guess that Dock had no idea how his body functioned. 

"You aren't so smart, are you?" he said. 

Dock bristled at that. Or, Heartless guessed that he bristled. There was so much fabric with his robe and mask and hat and gloves that it was hard to read his body language. But he went stiff, growing several inches as he straightened and studied Heartless closely. Heartless would guess that he struck a nerve with that statement.

“I would wager I’m smarter than you are,” Dock said. His voice wasn’t as friendly anymore, dropping a bit lower as it took on more of a growl. 

He dug through his pockets, having to rifle for a moment before pulling out two glass bottles. He uncorked them both, pouring one into the other and tossing the empty bottle aside where it shattered on the floor. 

He shook the new concoction violently, and Heartless could almost _feel_ how smug he was. The liquids foamed and frothed, bubbling and then boiling and steaming as whatever reaction inside took over. 

“If sickness cannot take you,” Dock growled. “Then I will have to resort to cruder methods.” 

He threw the bottle at Heartless, aiming for his feet. And then he was turning, drawing his coat around him and over his head. Heartless didn’t know what he was doing at first. It was almost like he was bracing himself for an 

The explosion caught him completely by surprise and knocked him backwards, sending Heartless flying and tumbling heels over his head as the cloud of smoke and heat enveloped him. 

His ears were ringing and his vision blurry with the chaos, but Heartless was familiar with this feeling. This was something that he could work with. He flipped through the air like an acrobat, managing to get his feet underneath him just as he hit the floor. He still stumbled backwards, a little off balance, but he pin wheeled his arms and corrected himself. 

And then he latched onto the fire and explosion. 

It was _all_ energy.

He pulled it into himself, pumping it directly into his heart like a shot of pure adrenaline. It sent every hair on his body on end, like he had been electrified, but it just felt like life to Heartless. He was buzzing, maybe glowing? He wasn’t sure. He was flapping his hands and bouncing on the balls of his feet, feeling better than ever as the energy took over his entire body and made it hum.

The explosion didn’t even exist anymore. It had gotten halfway through its blaze before Heartless had absorbed it, like turning back time as it folded back in on itself and then went out with a pop. 

Dock was still cringing, braced for the explosion and fire. When it didn’t come a few seconds later, he pulled down his coat and looked at Heartless. And if a mask could somehow look panicked, Dock certainly looked panicked. 

“I think you underestimate corpses,” Heartless said and sent the energy flooding back out of himself, concentrating it in a blast directed entirely at Dock. 

And he didn’t remember much after that. 

One moment, he had all the energy in the world, and then exhaustion hit Heartless like a brick to the head. He was only barely conscious enough to make a note of Dock’s slumped and smoking body, no longer moving, before he collapsed forward. 

He was asleep before he hit the floor. 

********

River wasn’t ready for the noise and vibrations that surrounded her. She clamped her hands over her ears and almost crumpled to the floor before she got her wits around her and turned down the volume. 

It wasn’t that hard. Sound was just vibrations and vibrations were just energy and that was something that River could control. 

And it took her another moment to realize she wasn’t even in the same room as before. Dock was gone. The room had changed completely. River had no idea where she was, really, all that she knew was that she wanted it to be quiet. 

“Lorelei?” she said when she spotted the figure that was slumped over on the stage. Whoever it was, it looked like they were bleeding. 

They pushed themself up, arms shaking under the effort, and River realized that it _was_ Lorelei. Her dress was torn and falling off her and her shoulder didn’t look much better. It looked like an animal had ripped into her, but River didn’t see or sense anything nearby that could have done it.

“Lorelei!” River yelled. She ran to the stage before she could think about what she was doing. 

She jumped once she was close enough, intending to leap onto the stage and use the energy she had just collected to speed up the healing process on some of the larger wounds. 

She hit the stage chest first, hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Her hands slapped down onto the stage and for a moment, she scrambled to grab a hold of something, anything. She clawed with her legs and feet too, and found exactly nothing to give her a boost. 

She had to fall back then, coughing to catch her breath and taking the moment to recalculate the jump. She had to put a burst of energy into her legs and even then, it took her two hops to actually get high enough onto the stage where she could heave and huff and eventually roll herself onto the wood. 

River was out of breath by then, but she didn’t have time to waste. She scrambled to Lorelei’s side, hovering her hands over the wounds as she tried to assess the damage and decide what the best way to approach it all was at the same time.

Lorelei shoved at her weakly. “Leave me alone,” she said, her voice almost impossibly quiet. 

“I’m trying to help you,” River said, gritting her teeth and preparing to drape the energy over the worst parts of Lorelei’s shoulder. 

It took several long moments of hard concentration as River focused on keeping the energy steady and sure. When the bleeding slowed down and the arm stopped looking so much like hamburger, Rive pulled back, letting the rest of the energy go so that she could get a proper look at Lorelei. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. She wished she had a blanket or a jacket or anything to wrap around Lorelai’s shoulders, something that could give her a little privacy. She settled for helping Lorelai sit up.

“Why do you suddenly care?” Lorelai spat. She shoved away from River, trying to scoot away before slipping in her own blood and almost falling back over. She froze instead, breathing hard and hair wild around her face. “It was your magic friend that did this all anyway.” 

“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding,” River said. She was trying to look as non-threatening as possible, holding her hands palm out to show just how unarmed she was. “Okay, and _some_ of my friends do like fighting, but I’m sure they didn’t mean it!” 

Lorelei looked even more confused and she opened her mouth again.

River winced and immediately covered her ears as a shrieking scream began echoing around the theater. It took her only a moment to grab the energy and sooth it, turning it down. Lorelei’s mouth was still open but when River sat up and recovered from the noise, she snapped it shut, panting again as she glared. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded and her voice was quiet again. It wasn’t like she was whispering. Instead, it was like someone had turned down her voice.

River was about to let go of the energy, since she didn’t have a need for it. And then she realized just exactly what was going on with the noise. 

“That’s _you_?!” she said, looking at Lorelei in awe. 

Lorelei just glared even harder, and if looks could kill, River would be rotting in the ground. 

They just stared at each other then, neither of them daring to move. Lorelei was stiff and nervous, curled up in a puddle of her own blood. River was crouched over her, though a couple feet away, still holding the energy down and keeping her quiet. And then Lorelei slumped with shuddering sobs, using her good arm to cover her face so River couldn’t see. She only succeeded in spreading blood across her face. 

“It’s the only way I can protect myself,” she said quietly. Quiet all by herself. 

River carefully let go of the energy, and Lorelei sobs became louder. 

“We can just . . . . sit,” River offered, slumping down on the stage too. She extended a hand halfway to Lorelei but froze when Lorelei flinched away. River sat on her hands instead. “We don’t have to fight. We can just . . . be quiet.” She would be grateful for the chance to rest too, especially after everything with Dock.

The theater was completely quiet then. The acoustics meant that Lorelei’s sobs almost echoed, her crying turning to whimpers and then full body shudders as she slowly got a hold of herself. Both of them just sat there then. 

Neither of them dared acknowledge that they were both crying.

********

Alchemy remembered everything. 

Their beast form melted around them into something more controlled—something more human—and Alchemy whipped around, scanning the room and looking for Lorelei. They knew that they would have to act quick, silence Lorelei before she could make Alchemy forget all over again.

But Lorelei wasn’t there. 

Instead, there was a masked clown stuffing a bunch of food into a bag, clearly struggling to collect as much as possible before they ran out of time. A bottle of wine was tucked under one arm and a cask of something else was squeezed between their legs. The bag of food was thrown over their shoulder.

Alchemy didn’t trust them at all. 

“Hello?” they called. They were halfway across the room from them so they had to raise their voice a little to make sure that they were heard.

The clown snapped upright, spotted them in an instant, and smiled brightly. “Hello!” they said, dropping into a quick bow that was so loose-limbed that they were like a puppet with cut strings. But then they popped back up, still grinning. “Bandy Bellami, he, him,” he squinted at them and then nodded. “Yeah. Alchemy. You’re the one who cares about that stuff.” 

“Where am I?” Alchemy asked. They didn’t like that Bandy seemed to already know so much about them. 

“Oh, still with the Jury,” Bandy said, going back to packing food. “Don’t worry, I just switched you all around.” 

Alchemy narrowed their eyes. “What do you mean?” 

Bandy sighed over dramatically and then snatched up an apple, holding it out to them. He looked pointedly at the apple and then to a banana that was several feet down the long dining table. In a flash, the fruits switched places, and Bandy tossed the banana into his bag. 

“Switched you all around,” he repeated. “That’s what I mean.” 

Alchemy opened their mouth, and Bandy stopped them with a hand. 

“The Jury isn’t stupid,” he said. “We do our homework. The plan was to separate you all, have you at your weakest, and each of us would finish off the job. Easy peasy, just like that. I just switched you all around so you wouldn’t be weak anymore, because I’m _generous_ like that. Your other friend convinced me. The twin one.” 

“Doppel?” Alchemy said. 

Bandy snapped his fingers. “That’s the one! Good man, that one. Tell him I love him.” He winked and then turned towards the door at the far end of the room.

“Where are you going?” Alchemy demanded. They weren’t sure if they were supposed to just let him walk away? They thought this was supposed to be a fight. 

“Away,” Bandy said, spinning back to face them and clicking his heels in a mocking at-attention. “Before the _real_ Jury gets here and figures out exactly what I did. I suggest you do the same.” 

He turned and hurried towards the door, already nibbling out of the bag. 

“You’re letting me go?” Alchemy yelled at him. “Just like that?” 

Bandy turned back around with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “ _Yes_ ,” he said. “Just like that. Are you just _not_ going to believe me?” 

Alchemy ignored his snappy tone. “You use magic,” they said. “You’re in the Jury and yet you use magic.” 

Bandy was tapping his foot like he couldn’t get away from this conversation fast enough. “What of it?” he said. “You think you’re telling me something I don’t already know?” 

“You could come with us,” Alchemy offered. If Doppel had managed to convince him not to let them all die, then maybe Alchemy could talk more hope into him. “The Jury hates magic, you know that. They want it gone. . . . and, and that means you too. . . . But you could come with us! You don’t have to be ashamed of your magic!” 

Bandy clicked his tongue and looked down at his feet. “I’m not ashamed of my magic,” he said. “You lot are just so obsessed with _self-love_ and _magic good times_ and _the friends you made along the way_.” He said it all in a mocking, high-pitched voice. 

Alchemy bristled, throwing back their shoulders and standing as tall as they could, even adding a couple inches just because they could. “And what’s wrong with that?” 

Bandy immediately put up his hands, laughing and shrugging as he inched backwards. “Nothing!” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with that! Some of us are just trying to stay alive though, and sometimes self-love gets in the way of self-preservation.” 

Alchemy wanted to argue against that. Their life had been so horrible when they had first showed signs of their magic, trying to hide it _and_ survive on the streets _and_ try to live a normal life with friends and a job. They had been miserable the entire time to the point of wanting to flaunt their abilities just so that everyone around them that they had been lying to finally knew what they truly were. 

When they had finally opened their midnight ballroom and finally got a space to show off their natural self and just be themself in front of others—and be applauded for it—was the first time Alchemy had felt truly happy. It was the first time they had truly loved themself, and seeing Bandy having to hide his magic made them remember what they had felt when they had had to do the same thing.

They wanted Bandy to be able to feel free too.

But Bandy was shaking his head. “It isn’t safe for all of us,” he said with a grin. This time though, it was a little more forced and a little sadder too. “We can’t all live under the spotlight. But chin up! Your friends are probably each finishing up their fights. They still need you to help them get out of here.” 

And then he was turning and slipping out of the door, gone before Alchemy could protest any further. 

They wanted to run after him. For one brief moment, they considered running out the same door, wanting to grab him and force him to come with. To prove that life could be better.

Alchemy shook their head and then spun around, running back towards their friends. Leaving Bandy behind. They couldn’t risk it, magic user or not, Bandy had made his choice, and Alchemy was making theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex be like *creates a thinly veiled metaphor about magic and being gay* 
> 
> me be like *creates an even more thinly veiled metaphor about magic and coming out and self-love* 
> 
> hey look, i'm on tumblr @manuscript-or


End file.
